


Coffee and Éclairs

by TheVineSpeaketh



Series: Tony's God-Awful Senior Year [4]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Library, M/M, Pansexual Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-12
Updated: 2013-11-12
Packaged: 2018-01-01 06:28:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1041452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVineSpeaketh/pseuds/TheVineSpeaketh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki gave him a playfully glaring look that melted into a smile. “I saw you critiquing Steve’s work. You seemed… “ His lips quirked into a smile, “biased. It wouldn’t be good for me.”</p>
<p>Tony raised a brow. “Biased? What do you mean?”</p>
<p>Loki smiled mischievously, as if he knew more than Tony did. “I saw the way you were looking at Steven.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Coffee and Éclairs

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, the end was typed in a rush, so I might trim this or edit it later. I just wanted to put something out so you guys have something to read! :D See you!

In hindsight, he probably shouldn’t have been singing that particular song.

Bruce had sent him into the depths of the library ten minutes ago to look for a book that Tony swore to every deity that ever existed didn’t exist. He had been checking for this piece of shit for the past twenty minutes, and had even gone back to complain to Bruce about it more than once.

In fact, he thought as he leaned against the nearest shelf, this had to be at least his third time. “It’s not here,” he said, crossing his arms and glaring daggers at his so-called “best friend,” “and I’ve checked seven- **thousand** times.”

Bruce didn’t even look up from the coven of books surrounding him, instead just adjusting his glasses and flipping a page dexterously. “You’ll make it,” he replied. “I know it’s here. I checked it out several months ago.”

“And you’re sure you don’t still have it?” Tony whined, tapping his feet and tapping his fingers. “Like you forgot to turn it in or something?”

This time, Bruce did look up from where he was reading, fixing Tony with another of his famous deadpan stares. “Do I look like the kind of person who doesn’t turn in their library books, Tony?”

Tony released a loud “bah” at his statement and waved his hand. “Fine, fine, fine, you have me there. Just…” he sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Tell me what section to look in again?”

“Non-fiction,” Bruce replied, looking back to his literature. He flipped another page nonchalantly, ignoring Tony sticking his tongue out at him. “Look harder this time.”

“Whatever,” he replied, moving away from the table again, once again ascending the stairs into the non-fiction section of the public library. He moved in a lax manner, putting his hands in his pockets and strolling nonchalantly, as if he were merely taking a walk instead of searching high and low for a disappearing book. Eventually, though, he got down to brass tacks and started moving through the library with an intent posture, eyes scouring the shelves for the book.

And thus, he had been doing so for the past ten minutes. Tony was becoming wearied by this frantic search for something that couldn’t even move on its own. Every time he thought he had gotten to the right place, the space on the shelf where the book should have been was completely empty. Tony never failed to groan loudly, as if he’d been physically wounded, every time he saw an instance like that, which was steadily becoming a common occurrence. “Wild goose chaser” was not something that Tony fancied putting on his resume, thank you very much. He had many different yet equally ridiculous things that could easily take up that spot.

“And what’s the importance of this book, you might ask?” Tony began muttering to himself, shoving his hands in his pockets again and hunching angrily forward, a pout settling almost too easily on his lips. In reply to himself, he shrugged, his shoulders jerking unnaturally upward, as if he was being pulled by strings. “Don’t know, because ‘Doctor Motherfucking Banner’ doesn’t find it pertinent information to tell me why he needs this book. It’s obviously a biology book, and Banner’s taking biology, so why doesn’t he just tell you why it matters and go from there?” He squinted, stopping in his tracks. “Because Bruce is a dick, that’s why. And he loves to hurt my feelings.”

He scuffed his shoe across the carpet loudly before squaring his shoulders and once again picking up his pace, sulking around the library and casting cursory glances at the shelves, just to see where he was. “By the time this hellish ordeal will be over, I’ll no doubt know this library inside-out,” he mumbled to himself, clearly fuming. “I’ll be like the hunchback from all those old movies about Dracula. What’s his name?” He stood up straight for a moment, staring at the floor as he tried to regain any memory of the character’s name. “Ee… Ee-gh… It’s ee-something, isn’t it?”

After a moment of thought, he sighed, putting his hands back in his pockets and slouching again, when suddenly, it hit him. “Igor!” he said, probably more loudly than he should have, pointing high into the air. “Igor was his name-o!” Then, just as suddenly as that epiphany had hit him, another came rushing to the fore. “Aww, shit,” he exclaimed, straightening himself up and dusting his shirt off. “I’m already hunching like him and everything. The transformation has already begun. Pretty soon I’m going to start calling Banner ‘Master’ or some shit. Fuck me.”

And just like that, it happened. The spark of both supernatural fiction and the phrase “fuck me” linked inexplicably in his mind, racing along his synapses until he finally reached the unavoidable conclusion. For Count Dracula made him think of Mary Shelley’s _Frankenstein,_ which made him think of science fiction. And that, combined with “fuck me,” made him think of…

At first, it was just humming. As he resumed his perusal of the ever-confusing shelves that brought him little comfort (and **no** , Bruce, for the last time, it was not because they were **taller** than he was), it was just the simple note slipping free from under his breath on a rare occasion. But as he lost himself once more in the search for that damnable book, the music grew louder in the absence of his consciousness, until finally, he was more than just humming it under his breath.

“Fuck me, Ray Bradbury,” he sang lowly, looking around absent-mindedly for this godforsaken book, “the greatest sci-fi writer in history. Oh, fuck me, Ray Bradbury.”

He moved along the shelves, the beat and happy vibe of the music affecting the way he moved. He began to slightly shimmy, walking to the beat, a little bit of a skip in his step. He sang, not quite above his breath, but no longer murmuring, “Since I was twelve, I’ve been your number one fan; kiss me, you _Illustrated Man_.” Here, he turned the corner of the shelves, ducking back in their cover just so he could dance again. Libraries weren’t so bad, now that he got used to them. He was getting pretty into the song, his body in full dance mode, his voice now a normal, respectable level. “I’ll feed you grapes, and _Dandelion Wine_ , and we’ll read a little _Fahrenheit 69_!”

Here, he dropped down to one knee, his arms spread wide. “Come on, baby, I’m down on one knee! I carved our names on a _Halloween Tree_!” He got back up to his feet and spun, prowling down the aisle. His voice was definitely louder now. “You write about earthlings going to Mars, and I write about blowin’ you in my car!” He bobbed his head, twirling around the next corner and down the next pair of shelves.

By now, he was singing loudly, no doubt disturbing people in the library from their studies. He didn’t care; if he had to suffer through the horrible incidence of finding a book that he didn’t even care about, then others would suffer through his terrible singing. He actually thought singing the song helped him be less bored from his situation. In fact, he was really enjoying this. “Fuck me, Ray Bradbury,” he sang quite loudly, turning the corner of yet another set of nondescript shelves and dancing his way between them. “The greatest sci-fi writer in hi-story! Oh fuck me,” here, he threw in an intricate twirl, extending his arm out and pointing, opening his eyes as he began to shout the famous sci-fi author’s name again.

Instead, in his shock, his voice decided it would be prudent to echo the name of the person he had just come face to face with. “Loki!” he said, instantly straightening his posture, dusting away at imaginary particles clinging to his clothes. Indeed, the tall, raven-haired figure was poised elegantly in front of the shelf to Tony’s left, paused halfway through the action of replacing a book he was using to its rightful place on the shelf. Tony tried not to look at him, instead finding every other book in the library interesting. Yep. No doubt Loki had heard that entire thing, considering Tony had crowed it from literally every corner of the library. Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant.

“Good to see you again, Tony,” Loki’s voice finally sounded, brilliant and fluid as always. It was like pouring molten silver in his ears. Tony scratched at his ear, feeling the burn of the molten metal metaphor without really meaning to. Or was it just embarrassment? “I hadn’t known you could sing.”

Tony still refused to look at Loki, instead staring at the ugly spine of some book about bugs. What the hell was it doing in the psychology portion of the library? “Don’t do it often. Only when I’m alone.”

“Ah.” He could **hear** the smile in Loki’s voice, and he wanted the bookshelf to collapse on him. He didn’t care if he was killed in the least-awesome way possible, he just wanted to die right now. He glared at the book about bugs. Even if it was **that** damn thing that delivered the final blow, dislocating his trachea or snapping his neck as it toppled over him, he’d still be happier than having to survive this moment.

“I haven’t seen you around the café much, Tony,” Loki said, and his voice sounded just different enough to catch Tony’s attention. He turned to look at him, not at all expecting the pleasant yet shy smile adorning Loki’s face. His free hand was in his pocket—again, he was wearing slacks and a button-up, was he ever **not** perfect—and his other hand was carrying a few notebooks with crimped spirals and worn covers. They must have been really old or frequently used. Was Loki in college? Or did he just like to study things?

It took Tony a second to notice Loki was waiting for a response. “Oh,” he said, mentally bashing himself for acting like a fucktard. “Well, you know. Senior year. High school. It’s all one big roller coaster thing. Lots of work to do and little time to do it.”

Loki nodded, a completely understanding expression crossing his features. “It’s a very busy time of anybody’s life.”

“Surely Steve’s been stopping in?” Tony asked, hoping the pair—that is, Loki and Thor—weren’t left entirely to their own devices. Not that they didn’t get customers besides him and Steve or anything.

Loki nodded, peering at the shelves as if looking for something else. “Yes, as is his wont,” Loki replied, and seriously, nobody says “wont” in that way anymore. Except, of course, for the ever-elegant, always-perfect Loki, who had only met him once before and yet seemed entirely fascinated in Tony’s personal life. “I was just a bit worried about you, though.” Case in point.

Tony perked up. “Worried? Why?”

Loki looked at him, his expression kind. “You left in such a hurry when you first came that I thought for sure one of us scared you off. And when you didn’t come back, I was almost certain of it.” He turned more toward Tony, and Tony only just realized how close they were. His breath slightly hitched. Loki smelled faintly of the bakery, but he also had another scent about him, too: the scent of books and ink, maybe.

“I was okay. I’m okay now, too,” Tony said, trying to clear the matter up, and Loki smiled, relief plain on his features.

“I’m glad to hear it,” Loki replied, once again scrutinizing the shelves. “So, are you here to study or to perform for those of us unfortunate enough to be stuck doing so?”

Tony went back to looking at the shelves himself, still searching for that elusive book that Bruce had gotten him in this whole debacle for. “I’m just looking for a book for a friend. He’s doing all the studying. I’m just here as moral support.” Ironically, the only reason Bruce said he was studying was because it was supposed to be about Tony’s predicament; he thought biology would explain Clint’s odd behavior. Tony would let him do his biology-science voodoo as much as he wanted to, as long as he didn’t crack any more ovulation jokes in Tony’s direction. Tony was having a hard enough time with his masculinity as is; he didn’t need Bruce laying it on thick by saying he had a menstrual cycle,  too.

“How kind of you,” Loki said, still scouring the shelves. He and Tony swapped places, moving along the shelves and looking for their respective books. Well, Loki was looking for his book. Tony was kind of distracted by the ever-growing distance between the two of them.

“So, what are you in for?” Tony asked, hoping that making conversation would not inconvenience Loki’s search, but would still keep them talking. He wanted to talk to Loki. Then again, he also wanted to date Loki and kiss Loki and maybe do a few naughty things with Loki, but that was neither here nor there.

Loki chuckled slightly at his choice of words, straightening his stance to check the shelves at eye-level. Tony marveled at how his legs looked in those slacks, how thin and sinewy they were. Tony envied his height while at the same time admiring it. “I’m just looking for more psychology books to help me write my story. I’m doing a bit of research before I say anything concrete about chemical imbalances in the brain.”

Tony cocked a brow, his full attention turned to Loki. “You write?”

Loki’s eyes widened and a blush raced across his cheeks. It seemed like he didn’t mean to tell Tony that. He turned to Tony, smiling a bit sheepishly. “Purely for fun, of course,” Loki replied, protectively tucking his notebooks further under his arm. “I don’t think I have what it takes to do it professionally.”

“That remains to be seen,” Tony said, adapting his most accurate Gandalf voice and stroking an imaginary beard. “I’d be willing to give you an honest review if you want somebody to read them.”

Loki gave him a playfully glaring look that melted into a smile. “I saw you critiquing Steve’s work. You seemed… “ His lips quirked into a smile, “biased. It wouldn’t be good for me.”

Tony raised a brow. “Biased? What do you mean?”

Loki smiled mischievously, as if he knew more than Tony did. “I saw the way you were looking at Steven.”

Tony paled. He was looking at Steve a certain way? “Looking at Steve how? Like, ‘I want to murder you and your entire family’ look? Or like ‘you’re a good friend Steve, let’s stay that way’ type-look?”

Loki’s smile grew wider and he laughed. “You don’t have to hide behind jokes, Tony,” Loki said, giving him a small glance before looking back to the shelf. “I think we both know how you were looking at him.”

“…Okay,” Tony said, his tone going on the defensive. Was he really that easy to see through? He didn’t want to be, especially with this whole “sexual epiphany” thing going on. He began to feel antsy, his hands getting clammy. He tried to practice his grip for a moment, flexing his hands in an attempt to warm them, but to no avail. “But then how would that make me biased to you? That would just mean that I have a bias toward Steve.”

It was here that Loki actually paused in his perusal, plucking a book off the shelf before turning to Tony. It only just registered then how much taller Loki was than him, and how easily Loki could trap him in one of these narrow corridors with no means of escape. The thought both thrilled and horrified Tony. He licked his lip subconsciously.

Loki grew near to him, sliding the book he grabbed among his notebooks under his arm. He grew closer, a mischievous spark igniting behind his eyes. He raised a hand, placing it on the shelf behind Tony, effectively trapping him, while still giving him room to escape. “Because,” he murmured, his voice pure silk, “I think you were looking at me the same way. Though, I could just be imagining things.” Here, he released the shelf, instead coming to caress Tony’s cheek, a shock washing through his system that was not entirely unpleasant. “I doubt it, though.”

Tony closed his eyes, humming, loving the feel of those dexterous fingers caressing his cheek, the knuckles not even rough as they scraped against Tony’s barely-there stubble. “You saw?” he breathed, trying not to submit, because being kissed by two guys within the same day would be insane, especially since he only came out to Bruce like two days ago, and nobody else knew.

“I saw,” he replied softly. Blind to everything, his sense of touched heightened; he could feel the pull of every thin hair as Loki’s hand slid, threading through his short hair and closing around the back of his head. He could feel a sudden warmth on his cheek, a blush blooming across his face as he realized that Loki was leaning in low, close to his ear.

“But,” he breathed across his ear, and Tony shivered, “I can also see that you’re still trying to figure things out. So maybe…” Here, he pulled away, his hand sliding down gently to the back of Tony’s neck. He cradled him as if he were precious, and Tony couldn’t help but feel comforted by the sure weight of his hand on his neck. “Maybe I should let you think things through.”

His hand left Tony’s skin, and Tony opened his eyes, gazing instantly into the smiling, beautiful eyes of Loki. Loki gave him a small smile, and it was full of something Tony didn’t feel like he could name at this point, nor did he want to. He wanted to see if this could grow, see if it could change into something bigger than what it was. He would feel delighted when it came full circle, and then, and only then, would he feel worthy of it. “When you do figure things out, though, know that I am here.” He pet Tony’s hair, his smile breaking open before he stood straight again, walking away.

Tony watched him go, watching him round the corner before allowing the wide grin to spread across his features. He jumped, turning as he did so, pumping his fist into the air. He was ecstatic. He glanced around, looking at the shelves, when a certain title caught his eye. “Oh!” he said, plucking the book off the shelf and glancing at the cover. The book Loki had put back was the one that Bruce had been asking for. Tony huffed, his hair flopping a little in the resulting breeze. “This place is a fucking conspiracy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Song is "Fuck Me, Ray Bradbury" by Rachel Bloom. Check her out on YouTube! Do it. Do it now. :)
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://exacteyewriting.tumblr.com)


End file.
